DUM SPIRO, SPERO
Part 76
 

"Friend, you have done me
A kindness, like a father to his son,
And I shall not forget your counsel ever."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 1, Lines 355-357. Used
without permission.
 

FROHIKE:

I've arrived early; I offered Dana assistance in setting up, which she truly does not need, particularly since her mother, Rear Admiral Margaret Scully, is present. Margaret is a delightful woman, although I fear what would happen should we allow her to run the country. Granted, everything would get done, with extreme efficiency, but there's not much democratic structure there. I tend to think of Margaret as a benevolent despot.

I questioned my wisdom in my decision to arrive at this hour until I see the face of the lovely Dana Scully-Mulder. Her pretty features are twisted in consternation.

"Frohike, I'm glad you're here, come in." She ushers me quickly inside.

"Anything I can do?" I doubt it, but one should always offer, particularly when one knows how to sign this particular phrase.

"Actually, yes, there is."

"What is it?" Another phrase I can form.

She ushers me into Mulder's den and closes the door, and grabs a pad of paper, always a useful device for when something complex needs to be
communicated.

I can already feel the knot forming in my gut.

"Where's Mulder?" I can sign that one. God knows it gets enough use.

She begins writing out her response in her Catholic school copybook handwriting, a technique I was never able to master. I actually failed penmanship a couple of times. Fortunately for me, my mother did not consider this a serious deficit.

"I invited Teena down, of course, seeing as we have two birthday celebrants," she begins. Teena being Mrs. Mulder, if I recall correctly. I've only met the woman once.

"Is she here?"

"Yes and no. She arrived this morning, of course, but she's not here right now."

"Is there a problem?" That I can sign. The phrases I've learned through repetition say a lot about my relationship to her and that errant husband of hers.

"Did she and Mulder argue?" Mulder's relationship to his mother has not always been the happiest state of affairs.

"No, nothing like that. Teena had a visitor."

"Let me guess. The smoking bastard. Don't tell me he came to the door."

"No, nothing like that, I doubt he'd have the courage. No, I think this was something prearranged. Teena indicated around three o'clock that she'd like to get out and get some air, and proceeded to take a walk. I didn't have a problem with it-it's been chaos here today-but when Mulder suggested she take Rebecca, she seemed unusually averse to the idea. Now you and I know Teena is not the warmest woman in the world, but she does adore her granddaughters, and her reaction was a bit extreme, even I'll admit. And she's been nervous all day, fidgeting, not being as involved with the girls as she usually is. So Mulder went out to follow her. And neither he nor Teena have come back."

"Oh, hell." This is not the news I needed to hear. Even less for her.

"How're you feeling, Dana?" I can sign that one as well.

She grimaces. "Nauseous. Worse than the last two times. My mother has done virtually all the work today."

"Where are the girls?"

"With my mother upstairs. They're playing."

"Look, why don't you go lie down, and I'll go search for that useless husband of yours, and his mother. I suspect where I find one, I'll find the other."

"Could you? I'd really appreciate that. I'd do it myself, Frohike, I really would. I just don't feel up to much of anything right now."

"You shouldn't." The smoking bastard is as much a threat to her as he is to her husband. "You know, Dana, if you're not up for this party, we would all understand."

She smiles wickedly. "What? With Mulder turning 40? Frohike, you've got to be kidding."

Well, okay, she's right. We would never pass up the opportunity to give Mulder hell on his 40th.

Provided I can find the stupid bastard.
 

The Muldervan is still in the driveway. I check the garage, and Dana's Camry is still parked there. So they had to have gone somewhere on foot. Teena's had a series of strokes and I know she doesn't move that rapidly, so I'm hopeful for a quick find.

Not a fucking chance. Typical Mulder.

I hate this, and it's so him. Age, marriage, kids, and a career change haven't altered his tendency to just take off and not say anything to anyone as to where he intends to go.

Mulder is significantly bigger than I am and can travel a lot faster. God knows what I should do here.

Walking around this comfortable, very upper-middle class suburb, with its immaculate lawns, late-model-cars-nearly every driveway sports either a minivan or SUV, and large, well-tended homes, I wonder about the lives of people who inhabit these idyllic-looking residences. To the casual observer, there is probably a terrible sameness to the place, a sterility only broken by the occasional shouts of kids playing. This is so different from the crowded military bases and city apartments I grew up in, with a million kids swarming about, hanging around, playing in the streets. Our parents did not have this kind of prosperity.

The only thing that really upset my young life, though, was my father's death. Granted, no small thing, but I was raised by a very competent, capable mother, had lots of friends and neighbors, knew everyone that attended my parish school. The difference was that I lived in a neighborhood. This is not a neighborhood. A suburb, a planned unit development, you call it what you like, but it's not, and never will be, a neighborhood in the sense that I remember it.

Of course, one tends to romanticize the past, and I force myself to remember that it was hardly a perfect world. For one thing, I had no father past the age of 8, and that loss has colored my life keenly. Most of my friends' fathers were still very much present, in body if not necessarily in spirit. And in this neighborhood, marital battles are not conducted in the middle of the street with a thousand people listening in to every hurled invective. And I was small, which subjected me to a fair amount of bullying, at least when I was very young. I compensated by becoming a pretty damn good stickball player, and later on I played football (you didn't have to be a monster to be a quarterback in those days). Plus, I was a good student, and in my youthful universe, that made you stand out. Standing out was not a
desired social goal where I grew up. The point was to blend in, to be average.

Fortunately, my mother forced me to keep my grades up, and for the most part, I did. This enabled me to get into Rutgers on scholarship, where I attended and studied electrical engineering. After graduation, I signed up and entered the military. Also not a popular decision in 1966.

Still, one thing that was not lacking in that neighborhood was contact. There was tons of human contact. Too much at times, perhaps, but if you needed it, you needn't go far. You were as welcome at the neighbors as you were at your own home.

I think this is what accounts for the popularity of the Internet. It's become a community for so many people, myself included. I know very little of my neighbors, but there are many people I can reach out and touch electronically, any time day or night, and that's a solace.

I'm going to sound like a Luddite here, but as much as I appreciate technology and its advantages, it cannot replace all of the social isolation that is suburbia in the early millenium. Martha has expressed to me that she feels our kids are all very isolated. And they are. In a sense, they have to be. The work we do is not without hazards, and you protect your own any way you can, and that's especially true nowadays.

I was beginning to feel some of that isolation very keenly until Martha arrived in my life. I'm grateful that my son is with me, but he is aching to get out and be on his own, and it will happen, sooner or later, and what's truly bizarre is I will do everything in my power to make that happen, regardless of how much anxiety I feel at losing him to the larger world.

Martha has brought back the things I missed most-touch, conversation, contact. She brings news of the world and of herself every time we're together. All the everyday things we share, I cherish those.

Of course, it has occurred to me that we haven't gone out together yet, unless you count the night I bailed her out of jail, and that hardly constitutes going out, in my estimation. Her birthday is next Thursday, and I'm planning to take her out, for a nice dinner. Alone. No kids, no friends, no problems. She deserves more than that, but I sense that is something that would please her.

I've managed to comb this entire subdivision. No Mulder. I'm going to have to go back and get my car. My leg is killing me.

I'm going to kick that sorry bastard's ass when I see him. 

I'm on my approach to the home of the Mulders when I spot a large, dark car pull up near the driveway. A late model Lincoln. With tinted windows.

And out of it steps Mrs. Mulder.

I can't see her face from here, so I cannot tell what has transpired. Even if I were up close and personal, this might still be the case. Mrs. Mulder is very reserved and keeps her feelings very much to herself. She is a woman of great dignity - and sadness. I noticed the one time I met her that her son has her eyes, those aching, storm colored eyes that hide much more than they reveal.

The car pulls away before any other figures can emerge. No Mulder. I don't know whether I'm relieved or pissed as hell.

I decide to wait five minutes. Perhaps he is not far behind.

Time is almost up, I'm reaching for my car keys, when I hear loud footsteps moving at a good clip behind me. I swing my head around, and it's who I hoped it would be.

He hardly looks ready for a birthday party-hair flying everywhere, his T-shirt that reads "Property of Lorton State Hospital"-which is an institution for the criminally insane, by the way, and the irony of this is not lost on me-is soaked with sweat, and his sneakers are covered with mud. In short, he's a mess.

"Where the fuck were you? I've been looking all over for you."

He's reasonably out of breath, so the words are labored, but I can tell, he is one angry bastard. "Frohike, you oughta mind your own business once in a while, you know that?"

"Forget it. Your wife asked me to look for you. And I might as well listen to the brains in the family."

"Scully sent you?" He looks puzzled. "She didn't know where I was going."

"Why the hell do you think she sent me? Jesus, Mulder, you are dense sometimes!"

"Well, I felt like getting out for a while."

"Mulder, don't lie to me or I'll kick that skinny ass of yours. I saw her. I saw her get out of the car. You were following your mother."

His eyes take on that dark, diabolical look they have when his temper has been stressed. "My mother came back all right, then."

"She seemed to be fine. Of course, I didn't get too close."

"Yeah, well, she should choose her friends better." His voice is bitter, harsh.

"Mulder, I don't think these were her friends."

"No kidding they're not her friends! And they're not mine, and they're not yours, and so help me if anything ever happens to Scully or the kids-"

"Mulder, calm down, they drove away. Your mother walked calmly out of the car and headed back to the house."

"Doesn't mean anything. That's just Mom. And she should stay away from that black-lunged son of a bitch. He got what he wanted from her. Why he's bugging her now, I have no idea, but he better goddamn get out of her life!" He's furious now.

And seriously stressed. I'm hoping this isn't going to produce one of his headaches, or it's going to be a really short birthday party.

Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea to begin with.

Still, Dana is determined to go through with it. The least we can do is support her.

"C'mon, Mulder. It's your first born daughter's birthday. Let's go." I lead him inside.
 

He seems to regain some equilibrium when he picks up his daughters, but you can tell he's still in a foul humor. His mother taps him and whispers something to him, but he rebuffs her, tells her he's not in the mood. I'm guessing she wanted to talk to him, and he's pushing her off.

Right now that might not be a bad thing. I don't suspect he's ready to listen to anything she has to say.

Dana shakes her head, but all she asks him is if he's all right, and he says he's fine. Liar.

Which makes all men liars, because that's our most popular line.

She urges him to take a shower and get calmed down, and he finally accedes to her coaxing.

In the meantime, the doorbell sounds its eight-bell chime, and I offer to open it. Standing in the doorway are Byers and Juliet, bearing gifts and smiling. Byers may have his problems, but he is smiling a lot these days. It's extremely welcome to see some mischief and sparkle in those quiet blue eyes, which have been locked in a silent sadness for so many years.

"We're not late, are we?" Byers looks concerned. "We got a bit of a late start."

"So where's the birthday boy?" Juliet's looking around.

"In the shower."

"Then I guess it doesn't matter." Byers looks relieved. They know the way to the kitchen, and they aim in that general direction.

I seem to have become the doorman here. Next arrivals are Bill Scully and his wife Tara and their two kids. Bill Scully is not Mulder's favorite human being, and vise versa, but we can treat each other with some measure of courtesy and respect.

I just hope Mulder's foul mood does not result in fisticuffs with his brother in law tonight. It wouldn't be the first time, but I've seen more than I want to in the past. I just pray for no repeat performances.

Dana's younger brother Charlie and his clan show up a few minutes later, and not a moment after admitting them the bell chimes again. I'm greeted by four faces, one of whom belongs to me. The younger ones look tired in the extreme.   The older ones just look...

Stoned. I swear, they look stoned. And don't say I don't know from. I spent time in 'Nam. And this was how most people got through the day, myself included.

Allison bursts into giggles upon my motioning them in. I'm not sure what's so humorous about the gesture. Allison can be a gigglepuss, but this is worse than usual. Generally she requires a stronger impetus.

And her waste case husband flings an arm over my shoulder and is full of good cheer and bonhomie as well as coughing. Langly is generally reserved in his affections, unless he is scared or unhappy or...

Stoned off his ass.

Oh, do I recognize this. And the two of them have the misfortune to be blue-eyed, which means that the red that is a part of the process is very evident in both.

On the other hand, they're about the only ones laughing right now. And if we don't have some laughter, this is going to be a very long night indeed.

Langly finally drags his heavy frame off me and switches his expressions to his wife, who is far more appreciative of him in this state. The two of them immediately scope out the kitchen to locate some beer. I'm dying to know which one is the designated driver tonight.

"What's with them?" I ask Michael, who shrugs at me.

"I dunno. But whatever they're smoking, I want some." He wraps an arm over Kelly's shoulder and leads her into the kitchen.

"Michael, don't you dare," I hiss at him. My son's already had two drug busts. He should stay miles away from anything to do with this.

He is, of course, ignoring me. As he always does when I have something to say to him.

This party is not off to an auspicious start.
 

LANGLY:

I mean, it's cool of Mulder to like give us time to pull it together so we can surprise the hell out of his ass, but this is ridiculous. We've been like waiting half an hour, Ally and me've already had a beer, for Christ's sake.

Plus sooner he gets down here, sooner Ally and me can get outside and light up again. I didn't wanna be here, still don't, but hey, whatever gets you through the night.

Finally, Scully decides she's had enough of his temper tantrums, she heads upstairs to drag him down. Oh, this is gonna be fun. Not.

I can hear her like, Mulder, we have a house full of people, it's Becca's birthday, now grow up.

Yeah, since you're gonna be 40, you might think about it.

Then again, I'm gonna be 40 in two years, and I got no intentions of growing up.

We're all piled in Mulder's study. This is real weird. Then all of sudden, before he can get down the steps, the damn doorbell rings again.

"Oh Christ, are we missing somebody?" Frohike looks worried.

"Walter Skinner's not here yet," Mrs. Scully's scoping the crowd.

"Well, I think he is now," Frohike decides, whatever, Mulder already knows he's here.

It's kind of funny watching little Fro pull Skinner into the study. I mean, Skinner makes me look puny, and I'm a pretty big guy. And let's face it, Fro's not quite a midget, but he's a giant only in that we all look up to him. Otherwise he goes through life looking at people's belly buttons.

He looks real different without glasses and a suit. Almost like a normal middle aged bald guy. And when he's not in his law enforcement mode, he's like real quiet, you think he's real gentle.

Just remember the dude's a black belt and he can rip your arms out of their sockets, and give him the proper respect, and you're fine.

We can finally hear the Mulders reach the landing. About fucking time. And Ally thinks I'm difficult. I bet Mulder can give her a little perspective.

I keep wondering why somebody so cool as Scully would be like totally obsessed with that loser, but hey, I probably got no room to talk, Ally hasn't murdered me yet. I mean, we like Mulder. His entertainment value's pretty high. But let's face it, he's a big piece of work.

Scully flips open the door and we all scream 'surprise!' You'd think the dude would be a little bit grateful and all, but instead, he just looks really bummed out and mad.

Which is making poor Scully look bummed out and mad. I can deal with Mulder bummed out and mad, even though he's a drag, but not his wife.

This is a man in need of some serious attitude adjustment. And I'm just the guy to do the adjusting.

Me and my magic potion.
 

That having gone over like a lead balloon, we all head for the kitchen, everybody's grabbing a beer. Ally and me go for seconds.

"Looks like someone's not in the mood to celebrate," Ally says to me, and she can't help it, she's still giggling.

"Ah, all that is about to change, my girl."

She raises her eyebrows at me. "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought I'd prescribe the same thing for him as I did for me."

"Ah, Dr. Robert's tonic for what ails you," she's still giggling. It's probably good she's giggling. People keep wondering why she's giggling, but it makes them laugh more, so that's good. This could be real depressing.

Not if I got anything to say about it, though.

I cruise back to the den, where Mulder's sitting on the sofa, sulking like Patrick when he doesn't get to do what he wants.

"Hey Mulder."

"What?" He's like, fuck off.

"Mulder, I got something to make this go down a little easier, y'know."

He glares at me. "Unless it's drugs, forget it." I think he's joking.

"You just said the magic word, my man." I'm not.

He squints at me. "You're serious."

"And it's good shit, man."

He debates for about a tenth of a second. "Let's go."
 

We're standing on the far side of the garage, far from the madding crowd. I pull out a joint. Good thing this stuff is decent. I'm down to four of those suckers. I copped a couple Bics from Ally's night table so we're set.

I try to light up, but my lungs are sore, and I keep coughing. Mulder finally grabs the joint and the lighter away from me. Oh yeah. Like Mr. FBI knows how to smoke this stuff. Bet he hasn't done it since college.

If that's true, he still knows how to work it.

I really want a hit, but I don't think I wanna do shotguns with Mulder. Not that he wouldn't, I think he'd be okay with it, but I'd way rather do it with Ally.

"Hey, hold that, I'm gonna get my wife."

"Fine, but let's kind of keep this little party private. My old boss is here, you know."

"Oh, like he's never touched the stuff."

"Bet he hasn't."

Well, we're not into deflowering virgins tonight. Are we?

I find Ally yapping in the kitchen with Scully and her mom. Scully looks all upset, like she was really hoping this was gonna go down better than it was.

Letting Ally be the translator, I tell her, don't worry, he's mellowing out.

Oh, is he ever.

I tell Ally I need her for a few minutes, and I get another burst of giggles.

Girl is absolutely uncontrollable, I'm telling you.
 

The three of us are having our own little private pot party in the side yard. And it's like, Mulder must really be susceptible to drugs, because he's had just a few hits and he's like all happy now. I mean happy like I've never seen him. This is good. I can give him back to his wife soon. She may wonder what the hell is going on, but I bet she doesn't say anything to him till everybody goes home.

"This is good shit." He's like really enjoying it. "Where'd you get this stuff?"

"My brother. One of his better legacies." Ally tells me to shut up and starts blowing a stream of smoke in my mouth.

"So he wills you his kid and his stash? Unusual, but it works." Mulder's starting to crack up now.

"Ally? Langly? Is that you?"

Oh shit. It's Byers. I used to call him the narc. And I think there's something in him that could still be. How much you wanna bet he's never smoked this stuff? And he better not go righteous on me. I mean, who else would get Mulder out of his slump and into the partying spirit?

Oh fuck him if he can't take a joke.

"What's up dude?" I call to him, I'm hacking my lungs out while I'm doing it.

"What're you doing outside, Langly? You're an idiot."

"No, I'm not."

"Want some?" Mulder seems to think this is funny. I'm like, wait a minute, this is not your stuff-

Byers sniffs the air. "Uh...sure."

Ally thinks this is hysterical. She is like so cracking up. Byers looks kind of miffed.

"Ally, what's so funny?" He looks like she's wounded him.

She's all totally giggling now, so hard she's having trouble talking. "I...figured you'd never...do this kind of thing?"

He looks totally hurt. "I did go to college, you know!"

"Hey, chill, have a hit. Mulder, don't crush that, hand it to Byers!"

"We need a roach clip," Mulder's complaining.

Oh Christ, you can tell I'm out of practice, I forgot all about that...

Hey, wait a minute, there's still an alligator clip on my key ring. I used to use it for this very purpose, among other things. I try to get it out of my pocket, which is sort of a challenge because I'm getting real shitfaced here. And totally enjoying it.

Fun part is trying to get the clip off my key ring. I got about ten million keys on it, it's gonna be hard to pass the dwarf around like that and not get a faceful of metal while you're enjoying the sweet fresh explosion of really decent dope.

This is so great. I always wanted to get Byers and Mulder stoned. Never figured I'd be doing it with both of them at the same time. This makes me crack up which makes me start coughing.

Apparently loud enough that we attracted some more attention. Oh well. It's a party. If I wasn't gonna share, I shouldn't have brought.

"What's going on? Langly, you sound like you're dying."

"We wish!" Mulder thinks this is funny, he's laughing too.

Oh fuck. It's Skinner. I'm expecting the okay boys and girls, put it away and get inside and I'll pretend I didn't see anything.

"Well?" He stares at us.

"Well what?" I'm trying not to laugh, but I can't help it.

"Well, are you going to be rude, or are you going to offer to share?"

The four of us start busting up, but we hand him the roach, which is like almost totally gone.

He glares at us. "This is it?"

"Nah, more from where that came from." I pull a fresh one out and I let Ally light it, she's a smoker and she's good at it, even if she takes in a bigger hit than a human should be allowed.

"Hey, don't get greedy!" Mulder's like, gimme that.

"Wait your fucking turn, Mulder," Ally shoots at him, and immediately launches into another giggle fit.

"Mulder, your wife's looking for you," Skinner rasps through a mouthful of smoke.

"She'll have to come and find me, then." He's like in total stoner mode now. "Though I am getting pretty hungry here."

"So Langly? What is this stuff?" Byers asks. Even in the dark, you can tell he's getting the red eye thing.

"Don't know for sure. Think Scott said it was Balinese."

"Whatever it is, it's good shit," Skinner's like totally appreciative.

We hear another set of footsteps. And two syllables we've come to know real well.

"Mulder!"

Oh hell, we're busted.

It's Scully.

END OF PART 76